Chapter 66 When Marnie Realizes Michael Loves the Twins as Much as He Loves Her
973 Words
Marnie noticed it in pieces first.
Small moments.
The kind that didn’t announce themselves loudly but settled quietly into her heart, waiting for her to finally understand what they meant.
It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
Michael had insisted—again—that she rest on the couch while he worked from home. His laptop sat open on the coffee table, medical journals and patient files neatly arranged. He looked every bit the composed doctor: sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose, posture straight even in the comfort of their living room.
Marnie lay on her side, pillows propped behind her back, one hand absentmindedly resting on her belly.
The twins were awake.
She felt it clearly now—the distinct difference between their movements. One was gentle, almost shy, while the other seemed determined to announce their presence with strong, confident kicks.
She smiled to herself.
Then she heard Michael’s voice.
“Alright,” he said softly, lowering his laptop screen. “Which one of you is doing that?”
Marnie blinked and turned her head.
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at her stomach.
Her heart skipped.
“They can hear you,” she said gently. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” he replied without hesitation. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression serious in a way that made her chest tighten. “That’s why I’m talking to them.”
She watched as he reached out slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wanted to. When she didn’t, his palm settled carefully over her belly—warm, steady, reverent.
“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re bothering your mother.”
The babies kicked again.
This time, right beneath his hand.
Michael froze.
Marnie saw it clearly—the sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers trembled before flattening again as if he was afraid they might disappear if he moved.
“They responded,” he whispered.
She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “They do that when they hear your voice.”
He didn’t smile.
Instead, his eyes darkened with something deeper—emotion so strong it stole the air from the room.
“I need you to listen to me,” he said quietly, his voice barely steady. “I’m not going to be perfect. I know that. I’m demanding, overprotective, and I think ten steps ahead until I forget the present sometimes.”
She shifted closer. “Michael—”
“But I swear to you,” he continued, his hand still on her belly, “that everything I am, everything I have, belongs to you and to them now.”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t see them as responsibilities,” he said. “I see them as lives I would give mine for without hesitation.”
Tears stung her eyes.
He leaned down then—slowly, carefully—and pressed his forehead against her belly.
It was such a simple gesture.
And yet it shattered her.
“Hello,” he whispered. “I’m your father.”
Marnie felt something inside her break open.
She had seen Michael love her fiercely, protectively, sometimes overwhelmingly. She had felt cherished, guarded, prioritized.
But this—
This was different.
This was deeper.
She reached out and rested her hand over his shoulder.
“You love them,” she whispered.
He looked up at her, eyes shining. “Of course I do.”
“No,” she said softly. “Not just because they’re yours. Not just because you’re responsible for them. You love them… the way you love me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I love them because I love you,” he said. “They’re part of you. They were with you before I even knew they existed.”
Her tears spilled freely now.
She hadn’t realized how afraid she’d been.
Afraid that once the babies arrived, she might fade into the background. Afraid that his attention would shift entirely. Afraid that love would divide instead of expand.
But watching him now—kneeling in front of her, one hand over her heart, the other over the lives growing inside her—she understood.
Michael didn’t love in halves.
He loved in absolutes.
Later that evening, they lay together on the bed, lights dimmed, the room quiet except for the hum of the city outside.
Michael’s hand rested on her belly as usual.
“Do you think they know?” she asked softly.
“Know what?”
“That they’re loved already.”
He smiled faintly. “If they don’t yet, they will.”
She turned toward him. “I think I finally understand something.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That worries me.”
She laughed weakly and wiped her eyes. “I thought I was the one being protected in this marriage. That you were the strong one, and I was the fragile one.”
“And?”
“And now I see,” she said quietly, “that you’re just as vulnerable as I am. You just hide it better.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I’ve never been afraid of much,” he admitted. “But losing you—or them—terrifies me.”
She reached for his face, cradling it gently. “You won’t lose us.”
He leaned into her touch. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her palm.
That night, as the twins shifted gently beneath his hand, Marnie realized the truth with startling clarity:
She hadn’t married a man who would choose between being a husband or a father.
She had married a man whose heart was big enough to hold all of them—fully, fiercely, and forever.
And for the first time, she slept without fear.
- Writer
